


Old Wine in New Skins

by prairiecrow



Series: Like Wine to the Flame [2]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Compulsion, Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, Explicit Consent, First Time, High Fantasy, Inferi, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back on the situation later, Mikal Wiltan — adopted son of one of the greatest Smithcraft Forgers in recent history, wearer of another man's face, and a Hero in his own right many times over — would recognize that he was acting under the compulsion of an embodied Eos awakened too much for its own good.</p><p>But Kyatt is here, and this is now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Wine in New Skins

Looking back on the situation later, Mikal Wiltan — adopted son of one of the greatest Smithcraft Forgers in recent history, wearer of another man's face, and a Hero in his own right many times over — would recognize that he was acting under the compulsion of an embodied Eos awakened too much for its own good. He would remember coaxing Kyatt to drink that fatal cup of Cyprosian red, and his delight when his wheedling at last produced the desired result; he would also recall that all he'd been after was a little unbending of that damnably straight spine, a bit of slurred speech and perhaps an injudicious turn of phrase or two that he could tease Kyatt with later — he could clearly see that Kyatt viewed the Duke as a lower form of life in spite of the Inferus's elaborate courtesies. To watch Kyatt (still politely) rip the Duke a new orifice in front of his entire Court would have been a delightful spectacle, even if it meant that they'd have to saddle horse and get out of L'Tavu'sar that very night…  
  
… but that wasn't what had happened. Yes, Kyatt had finally taken the wine, more to shut Mikal up than anything else — on that point Mikal had no illusions whatsoever. He knew he was fully capable of driving Kyatt to distraction, and had learned to take his entertainment where he could find it. And really, what did Bonna expect? All she'd told Mikal was _Never let him drink wine_ — she had refused to divulge the reason, and if she hadn't known at the time that Mikal possessed a thirst for the truth even greater than his appetite for women, she certainly should have learned it in the months that followed. But she hadn't, and he was curious… and thus the cup of Cypros, and everything that followed after.  
  
But that was later. This was now: Mikal watching Kyatt leave the sensual broil of the banqueting hall with his head held high, a prim upright figure in flowing robes of priestly black, with his own mouth hanging open and his cock standing at attention in his pants — then leaping to his feet so quickly that he nearly knocked his chair over backwards and setting off in pursuit without a backward glance or a single salutation to the Duke and his company. He strode through the crowd, shouldering his way past people without even a passing thought for courtesy or consequences, and when he emerged into the dark hallway leading west toward the guest wing of the castle he called out to the briskly walking figure already many yards away: "Kyatt! Wait!"  
  
And Kyatt did, of course — he might be an Inferus, with power enough to smite this entire Court to ashes, but he was also bound by the Runes that sheathed him, and obeying Mikal was the substance of most of them. He turned as Mikal jogged up to him, his finely drawn black eyebrows tightened in a questioning scowl —  
  
— and Mikal stopped in his tracks a full two yards away, stricken as if by a bolt of lightning. He knew that face, of course he did, it had been his constant companion for nearly three years — but how had he missed the heartbreaking elegance of it, the purity of its lines and the magnetic intensity of those inhuman eyes? For that matter, how had he failed to notice the _scent_ of the slender body in front of him? Even through the fine ebony cerements that bound it entirely, from the crown of its head to the tips of its long fingers, that scent bled through and made his mouth water — even clad almost entirely in those flowing black robes that hooded Kyatt's head and masked his silhouette all the way down to his neatly booted feet, leaving only his hands free… well, Mikal had been privileged to see his partner unrobed while Bonna performed adjustments to the binding Runes, and he knew full well what perfection lurked beneath that austere shroud.  
  
Even if he had never seen more of Kyatt's actual skin than half his face and the occasional glimpse of snowy white through battle-torn cerements, that was about to change. Every pulse of Mikal's blood was demanding it, in more and more urgent terms with every beat of his heart.  
  
"Mikal?" The Construct's scowl deepened, and he took a small step forward. "Are you all right? You seem rather —"  
  
He was, _rather_ — the Duke's Cyprosian wine had infused him with a pleasant glow, but this, this _thing_ that Kyatt was doing, maybe without even being aware of it, was sending a deeper fire coursing through every vein to take root in every square inch of his flesh. They could stand here talking about it half the night, dealing in lively words the way they always had, but every instinct Mikal possessed was demanding a different kind of grappling — and as Kyatt had lamented on many occasions (not without a hint of admiration), he was a man who trusted his instincts as a matter of life and death.  
  
So he stepped right up to that slim black-robed figure, a full head shorter than he, and took hold of its shoulders to pull the Construct even closer. He kissed Kyatt right through the thin black silk that covered the lower half of his face, right through the glowing red Speech rune, and exulted when he found solid lips beneath that barrier — lips parted first mid-word, then in palpable shock. They were thin lips, but oh! so red! (he'd seen them when Kyatt had briefly lifted the silken veil to down that cup of Cyprosian wine), and though they felt cool through the sheer fabric they seemed to Mikal to burn with a hidden fire that only made the conflagration in his blood roar the hotter.  
  
He closed his eyes, the better to lose himself in the delirious moment. He surrendered — who else was he to surrender for, if not this creature who held his very life in its keeping? But Kyatt remained stiff under his hands, those slightly open lips frozen, and a chilling trickle of doubt twined through Mikal's desire — a frosty thread, cold enough to sever instinct from common sense and make him pull back just enough to look down into Kyatt's upturned face.  
  
Two thoughts warred within Mikal: _He's mine_ , and _I can't force him_. He knew full well that Kyatt was an enslaved desert demon, but as soon as he'd realized how exceptional this Construct was he had vowed never to treat it as a slave existing entirely for his convenience. And if he wouldn't take so much as a kiss from a passing girl without knowing it was welcomed, what in the Nine Realms had possessed him to take this much from one who had never known a lover's touch, without so much as a word of warning?  
  
His heart sank like a stone through dark waters. If Kyatt raised a hand wreathed in flame and blasted him all the way back to Wiltan's territories he knew that it would be no more than he had coming to him for his crude thoughtlessness…  
  
[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
